Barabbas
by Portrait of a Scribe
Summary: "Because anyone can feel fear, just as anyone can find hope…" In his darkest hour, a killer learns that this saying is truer than one would think. PG 13 for blood.


_**Barabbas**__**  
By Portrait of a Scribe**_

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_"Because anyone can feel fear, just as anyone can find hope…"  
-Portrait of a Scribe_

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_Your first thought goes something along the lines of, 'What is this feeling?' Your second, 'What is this icy vise that's gripping my heart?'_

His breath came short. His hands trembled, one stained red where it clutched his side. Bile rose in the back of his throat. His eyes darted about, frantically seeking that which they could not find. Dodging around behind a pillar, he tried to quiet his breathing in order to hear better, but the frantic thundering of his heartbeat drowned out all else.

_Your third thought is of whether or not you can escape the thing or things that have caused this feeling, this… __**unfamiliar**__ sensation to creep about your mind, and then worm its way into the very center of your thoughts, your being, choking the very breath from your body. Your palms begin to sweat…_

He clenched his hand into a damp, trembling fist. Dappled sunlight flickered upon his chin, the only part of his face exposed from underneath his white hood and from the creeping shadows that seemed to rule the mostly-empty temple.

_You begin to hear things that aren't really there…_

A swish of a cloak met his ears. He held his breath, his stomach doing uncomfortable flops in his midsection that made him want to bend over and throw up. The scraping sound of the tip of a sword being dragged across the rough stone floor raised goosebumps over his skin and lifted the hair off the back of his neck.

_Your heart begins to pound, faster, __**faster…**_

He cursed himself for a fool, and his heart as well, for its pulsing roar deafened him to everything else, and he blinked rapidly, glancing madly about as sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging them.

_You pray to a god whom you don't really believe in, and as the icy hold tightens its merciless grip around your heart, you begin to learn the true meaning of fear._

God be merciful, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. That vise clamped down even harder.

_You begin to wonder how it is you came to be in this position when all it was was a mission of a type you've completed a thousand and one times before…_

The bleeding wouldn't stop. His arms were shaking, and despite the scorching hot air, he felt as though he had been cast into the sea and left to die. He was cold.

_Then you start to ask yourself why there's nobody here to help you._

This was a solo mission. He was a hundred and fifty miles from home, and there was not a friendly face to help him for at least nine hundred yards.

_You begin to wonder… would anyone care enough to help you if they even knew?_

A shiver crept down his spine even as the blood began to drip from his sodden clothes with the dull, soft _pit-pat_ of liquid striking stone.

_It's then that realization comes upon you…_

He drew in a shaking breath, his knees weakening until he slid down the pillar, smearing crimson across the grey sandstone.

_You are alone. Completely, utterly alone._

His body trembled constantly, now, his breath hitching faintly in pain and in fear. He gasped for air, his efforts seeming impossibly loud in his ears. Nobody was coming. Nobody knew he was hurt. Nobody knew that he had succeeded in his mission but paid a blood price in return.

_And then, you begin to realize something else…_

Nobody knew he was dying, bleeding out on the floor of a house of God.

_Good. You're beginning to see the whole picture, Assassin…_

Nobody knew where to find his body. He would never be given a proper Assassin's burial, never be mourned, never be remembered. He would simply vanish into the sands of time, never to be seen or heard from again.

_Oh, but you're wrong, Assassin…_

His eyes burned with something he had not felt in decades.

_Your deeds will live on in infamy. Your name, whispered in terror, told to children to frighten them into obedience. You will fade, but your legacy will not… Your legacy of blood will linger forevermore…_

His eyes glided around the pillar to land upon the crucifix standing atop the altar, mere feet away. Blackness edged his vision. He began to look away, but a strange notion took him, made him pause. Breath still hitching, he fixed his eyes upon the sculpture of the man on the cross, red paint streaming down its left side in place of real blood.

_Your thoughts are tumultuous, Assassin. As one who has been Godless all his life, surely you are unable to see what these fools are trying to teach._

But he _was_ beginning to. The walls behind the cross were decorated with murals depicting the death of their Prophet. The one on the left side showed the crucifixion, showed the suffering of the mortal who was being executed. The one in the middle showed a tomb, with three moons and two suns depicted above it. The one on the right showed an empty tomb, the stone rolled away and a man garbed in white speaking with two women whilst a full sun blazed overhead. Finally, above all three, was a mural showing the man being lifted by an unseen force into the clouds, a golden ray of light shining about him and an even brighter halo gleaming around his head.

_But what do they know? This man died many years ago. People cannot be raised from the dead._

And yet… And yet… That man had suffered just as he was suffering. That man had done no wrong, but had been pierced and suffocated just as he had been pierced, was slowly suffocating. That man had done no wrong… but he… he had murdered hundreds. Thousands, even.

_That's right… Guilty little Assassin, you deserve to die for your sins._

The man in the mural, the same as on the cross… His expression was one of hope, of love, of forgiveness. And even though he didn't believe in God, didn't think anyone could care…

_What are you doing? You'll only tear your wound, make it bleed faster._

He didn't care. In that moment, he didn't care. He pushed himself slowly up the pillar to his feet and staggered almost drunkenly towards the railing at the edge of the dais. His blood dripped unsteadily from the wound in his side, picking up its pace and then slowing, sloshing across the floor in small puddles with every lurching step he took. His muscles trembled, his bones shook. Fear gripped him, choking him further. As he crashed to his knees, the heated stone of the altar caught him across his chest, supporting him, holding him up as his strength gave out. Crimson leeched into the pristine white cloth covering the altar, staining it just as it soaked his own white garments.

_It will do you no good. There is no God._

Then why do you care? he wondered vaguely. His dark eyes drifted upwards while his heart stuttered and quailed, terrified by the unknown path he was doomed to travel.

_But you know where you are going. You know what awaits you._

Yes, he thought, but if there was a God, maybe He would forgive an old Assassin at least a few of his countless sins.

_Prepare to meet your death._

Metal scraped upon stone once more. The Assassin's hand flew from his side, pulled his loaded crossbow from his back, and blindly pulled the release trigger, sending a bolt hissing away behind him. He heard it sink into flesh, heard a body thump to the floor. The crossbow clattered to the flagstones as his fingers lost their strength. Dimly, sick with pain and blood loss, he brought both hands to the altar, holding on for dear life, slumping bonelessly across the stone.

_Another murder for your tally, Assassin…_

He drew another difficult breath, raised his eyes. Looked past the cross to the kind visage of the man on the mural.

_I hope you rot in hell, murderer… I hope you find your __**peace.**_

"There is no peace for the wicked," the Assassin whispered, blood streaming from the corner of his mouth. It was the first time he had spoken aloud since before his mission began, but the sentence held a note of a plea in it, a plea that he would, in fact, be granted peace once the life went out of him. His sight flickered. His breath hitched once again, and something wet streaked the side of his dirty face before disappearing to soak into the altar cloth against which his cheek was pressed. He thought he heard the creak of a door and a woman's cry, but his strength was gone, and he slumped further against the stone, no longer able to hold himself up. His eyelids drooped, then slipped closed slowly, his last sight that of the kind, forgiving face of Jesus Christ.

And, as the darkness took him, the fear fled from the heart of the Assassin.

Peace was at last given to Altaïr Ibn La-Ahad.

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_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of Assassin's Creed, awesome game as it is. I just wish I was older, better-connected, and that I had thought of it sooner so that I could honestly claim I **did** own it._

_And so the end... I think. First Assassin's Creed fic. The ending's a little open, which I did on purpose in case I ever decide to continue it, in which case there would, doubtlessly, be original characters involved. I hope the readers liked it. :) __I named this fic **Barabbas** after the murderer in the Bible who Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor of Judea, set free at the demand of the people. Jesus was crucified in his place, after which he rose again and ascended into heaven. If you're interested in the full story, read the Bible. But anyway, yeah... That's why I titled this fic as such._

_On that note, I also hope Altair wasn't out-of-character. Really, it was just a character study... Everyone feels fear. At some point in their lives, every person on the earth, no matter the time period, has felt fear. Altair shows fear in the beginning of the game when Al Mualim "stabs" him. It makes sense that he would feel fear at the end of his life, whenever it came._

_Sigh. Rant over._

_Anyway, please review. I love to see feedback from readers, as it helps me to grow as a writer. Not only that, but I'd also like to know what you thought of the concept, the execution, and whether or not I should seriously consider continuing this fic or continue writing in this fandom. Thank you for your time; know that any reviews, anonymous or not, are appreciated more than mere words can say._

_Until the next time..._

_-**P**ortrait of a **S**cribe_


End file.
